Leaves of Hope

THE LEAVES OF HOPE The budded leaves of spring have come of age they've leafed through summer on to autumns page and in the biting chill of early dawn their time speeds up its pace of getting on and now they turn through nature's silent rage. When they first came to light, their greenery made promises of things to surely be; of dreams once layed into our days of youth by strokes of fate and bitterness of truth, but born again from springtimes majesty. Through summer storms at midnight in the breeze, before the rains, we heard them in the trees, with all their heart, oh what a song they'd sing the very breath of God accompaning to make the heat of summer more at ease. But now their rustling, stiff, and brittle sound gives warning of their falling to the ground, as reds and golds and yellows cling on to the only threads of life they ever knew and then it ends, as if it's never found. © ron wilson aka vee bdos the doylestown poet